Blue Eyes
by LadyPancake
Summary: The appearance of a devil fruit ability throughout the course of history, the people wielding this power meet characters from OP canon, all playing some sort of role that would impact them, whether for the better or for the worse... The first thing you'd notice about them were their blue, blue eyes. They were the kind that would lock you in and steal your breath away.
1. Trafalgar D Water Law

A/N: This is LadyPancake and this one will feature multiple oc's all with the same devil-fruit ability. Just disregard the timeline for this story's sake and enjoy. I don't own any characters besides my oc. (I nipped a few traits from Tokyo Ghoul when describing the tails, so kudos to Sui Ishida-sensei-sama-senpai XD)

Some of these one-shots will be short, others, not so much.

* * *

The feathery-like tails, a contrasting movement of mainly velvet with curls of navy and lilac, were as thick as a man's forearm and long enough to reach to the other side of the room. There were four in total, each scanning the towering bookcase for books, which were grasped with smooth familiarity and placed next to the mobile figure. The person that Corazon brought Law to certainly didn't look like a doctor, when they finally turned around to greet the two.

The first thing Law noticed were electric blue eyes, swimming in it's own pool of colors and emotion, a constant swirl of of all the blues taken in the world and shoved into an orb. It didn't sparkle, but rather shone with pinpoint intensity. The mainly blood red...tails had paused in it's book collecting as the man jumped down from the platform, trailing behind him smoothly, a few still holding some books. He seemed to be middle-aged, but contained a liveliness that made him more like a reckless young man then a doctor in his forties. He had a pair of thin square glasses perched in chocolate brown hair, ruffled like he just came out of bed. He landed a couple of feet away, the click of worn dress-shoes on ceramic tile making Law's nervousness increase ten-fold.

He was already rejected by what seemed to be countless hospitals because of the reaction to his "contagious" disease, promptly driving Corazon into a ballistic frenzy and destroy said hospitals along with the doctors he visited. However, Law wanted to think that this man with striking blue eyes and strange tails would be different.

The doctor stopped in front of Corazon and Law, who was settled next to the tattooed man. His tails, once releasing their prizes next to a cluster of precariously stacked books, waved behind him lazily. Now that the man was closer, Law could see that the tails were rather jagged-looking in appearance, folding to a dangerous point at the end. Suddenly, they retracted into the doctor's body as if someone just yanked them back, disappearing as quickly as Law blinked.

"Welcome to my clinic, boy of Flevance. My name's Ganta"

* * *

 **A/N:**

That was rather short, wasn't it? I think something like this was necessary to begin to ease you all into the story. The next one will be longer, promise! Anyways, is the spacing for the story too cramped or too open? Also, do you have any requests on who I should write next?

Thank you for reading and as always, this is LadyPancake, signing out!


	2. Edward Newgate

A/N: This is LadyPancake, author of Blue Eyes. Once again, disregard the timeline for the sake of the story and enjoy! I do not own One Piece, Eiichiro Oda-sensei-sama-senpai does, so kudos to him. I own my oc though, so yeah.

* * *

Edward Newgate had become _nine_ now, a fact that made the tall and already maturing boy puff his chest out in pride. With a strongly jutting chin and already taller than a teenager, Newgate trounced through a well-worn path, all the while with a grin on his face. Today was the promised day. The moment of truth, the final answer to the question that had plagued his mind since if first popped into his head. No matter how hard he tried, even heaven itself seemed to refuse to sate one Edward Newgate's curiosity. Now was the time to finally get see that once again.

Excitement surged through his body as he finally burst through, entering a clearing with a small hut dotting the middle. Without stopping, he took the tune of his beating heart and charged forwards, ripping open the door with barely restrained happiness, almost taking off said door. "Barley! Barley!" He hollered, clambering in and almost immediately had to scoot around the dining table, trying not to break anything in his quest to find his freckled companion of twenty-seven.

"Barley!" Edward crashed open the door leading to the forgery and there stood the blue-eyed man, who was sweeping the floor with a broom. "What's with the racket, kid?" Barley grunted as usual, walking out of the forgery and into the kitchen. He padded over to the kitchen, Edward following behind him like a duckling, tossing the broom into a corner and began heating up some water.

Barley scooted into the seat opposite of Edward, taking a sip of his steaming beverage. The younger took this moment to state, "I'm _nine_ today! So, you hafta show me your floppy things!" The older man spit out the tea to the side in response before turning his head slowly to look at the grinning boy, eyes strangely haunted. He whipped his head around towards the back again, covering his mouth with a fist as he tried to make out what Edward just said. "I wasn't _that_ drunk, was I? No no, did he hear that from the passing teens? Oh god, I don't know if I'm mentally prepared for this! The wives at the village told me that this day would come, but I didn't think it would be so _soon_!"

During Barley's inner-dilemma, Edward looked at the slowly self-destructing man in confusement. Finally, the older man turned around and looked down at the table, eyes shadowed in grim determination.

Holding the cup in both hands, Barley looked up with eyes akin to a man going into battle and stated hesitantly-

"Edward, sit down for a moment- yeah, that's fine-"

Barley cleared his throat once again, his face strangely twisted, like he was in pain. "Ya' see, when a man and a woman _like_ each other-"

He wanted to commit seppuku and die right then and there, but he swore as a man that he would tell Edward this once the day came. He didn't have a choice. If he went back on his word, he would no longer be a man, but a coward. A boneless guppy; a worm perhaps!

"I already know 'bout that" Edward said bluntly, scratching at a deep groove in the worn oak table with a finger.

The cup shattered in Barley hands, spilling tea everywhere as the man spluttered. But- Edward was only nine! Hell, When he was nine, he was still hung on those coloring books and thought girls were gross!

'This generation is gonna cause a racket if they know about this kinda stuff already'

Of course, little did Barley know, he was just about to tell the future "Strongest man in the world" with a 1,500,000,000 beli bounty about the birds and the bees.

Barley decided not to ask, only deciding to dissect his guest's previous request. "By floppy things, would you, perchance, be talking about my devil fruit ability?"

Edward nodded eagerly.

Barley sighed, holding a hand to his pattering heart with an expression of extreme relief. He didn't know what he would have done if Edward was talking about the other thing.

'Probably run away to the wives and desperately ask them to help me'

"Here" He said, dispelling the thoughts of the giggling and slightly scary ladies of Orena village, releasing his ability for the first-time in a few months, the leathery-rustling of the extra appendages piercing the charged atmosphere as four tails furled outwards proudly. They jerked and twitched, like a repeated spasm, never capable to staying in one place for too long.

Edward was starstruck and somehow, that made Barley feel kinda good. While Edward was softly patting the crimson"floppy thing", Barley urged one of his newly-formed tails to stretch across the short distance of his kitchen to the forgery, where he spent the last three months perfecting his present for the boy that had wedged a place into his heart.

A bisento. It was kinda big right now, but Barley had a good feeling Edward would grow into it.

Let's just call it a parent's intuition.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This was longer, as promised. Actually went just a bit over a thousand words! I'm quite proud to have gone this far and not ditch the story like I do with all my fics. Also, I'm not too sure what Whitebeard's exact bounty is so I just looked around on Google and chose a bounty that seemed to fit him. Want me to write a story with your favorite OP character in it as a kid?

Then click that review button and type away!

Questions? Concerns? Review me!

Zombie apocalypse? Review me!

Spilled applesauce over your computer? Review me! (after cleaning the applesauce)

Your dog sneezed and you found it absolutely adorable and wanted to tell somebody? Review me!

Seriously, I'm desperate for reviews.

Thank you for reading and as always, this is LadyPancake, signing out!


	3. Dracule Mihawk

A/N: This is LadyPancake, author of Blue Eyes. I decided to do Mihawk today, since he seemed to be an interesting character for my new OC to interact with (though, I don't think they actually say anything to each other here)

I don't own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda-sensei-sama-senpai does, so kudos to him.

* * *

Within lush greenery and wildlife lied a village that curved and turned to match the shape of the island, which was a circle, hence it's name, "Quell Circle". In this surprisingly quiet town known more for it's goods than anything else, was a small shop nestled between a takoyaki stand and a smattering of trees.

This shop was called Green Day, and it was a bakery. Green Day sold everything even remotely sweet, so this included those weird tea candies that adults seemed to like a lot. So technically, Green Day was a sweets shop, but the owner here was anything but that. She had a gruff demeanor, a low, husky voice and piercing blue eyes that rivaled Mihawk's own in both intensity and brightness. She was rather intimidating, more suited to be a pirate or a pillager, not the owner of a some small bakery.

Her name was Anastasia Raegun.

Dracule Mihawk met this woman some time ago, roughly three years actually, when she jumped off of a half-capsized ship and onto the docks, stalking off with nothing but a cloth bag over her shoulder and the clothes on her back. She bought the shop only a few weeks later, raking in some big bucks by becoming a bouncer, bartender and temporary chef at a nearby hotel. She was a jack-of-all-trades, and quite a skilled one as well.

Mihawk first met her when he was 11, boken hanging from his hip and all scuffled up from training that day. She was standing right outside of the takoyaki shop, going nose-to-nose with a group of men -eight of them- that were a head taller than her. Her face was twisted into a dangerous snarl, the kind you see only on the faces of the beasts lurking around on Quell Circle after you royally pissed them off, something Mihawk had experienced multiple times throughout the course of his training. Mihawk wasn't sure what urged him to stop and watch the inevitable fight that was brewing, but the woman with her wild red hair and angry blue eyes had struck something in him.

It had gotten to the point where she logged the smirking man in the side of the face with enough force to take down a house, making him fly just past the golden-eyed boy and through a nearby building. The men were stunned into silence only for a moment, before they bellowed in rage at the loss of their apparent "leader" and charged.

'Amateurs' The boy thought blandly.

Mihawk had been fighting his entire life- against the beasts of Quell Island, against adults and children alike, and even against a few pirates- but nothing prepared him for the performance one Anastasia Raegun was about to give him.

His eyes involuntarily widened, watching the woman of 6'2" take down guys who were twice her weight and height. She fought brutally but smartly, weaving past anticipated attacks, striking kneecaps, elbows, ribs and particularly weak spots. The smack of flesh and cracking of bone was enough evidence for the eleven year old that Anastasia was well-acquainted with the art of battle and that these men had no chance against her.

A gurgled curse snapped Mihawk out of his daze, making him spin around and come directly in front of the man that was hurled past Mihawk earlier. Moving fast, too fast for an injured man, he brought down a burly, hairy fist with knives held in each knuckle. Mihawk felt a thrill of panic, bringing up his boken to meet the weapons and was about to jump away from the attack before he felt a tearing pain jolt through his muscles, as if someone was dragging a hot poker iron through his body. He had pushed his body past the limit while fighting one of the resident beasts earlier today, this pain obviously originating from the very moment when a bear had snuck in a lucky shot on his back, furry paw dwarfing Mihawk's frame and sent him crashing through a thicket of trees.

'Move! Move! MOVE!'

His brain screamed for the golden-eyed boy to dodge the incoming attack, but his body refused to listen. Shit! All those years of training and now was the moment that his body decided to shut down on him?! How the hell does that even work?! How infuriating! How frustrating!

A rush of air and a blur of red streaked past Mihawk, the blades that had pierced through Mihawk's boken was suddenly without an owner. It was like everything had gone in slow-motion, one moment he was about to stab Mihawk's head in and the next, he was shooting backwards and through the hole he made earlier. Following the man were two tail-like things, which were smoothly retracting back to the wild-haired woman. Mihawk turned around to look at her, boken still tightly in his grip.

One... three... four... There were _four_ of those tails.

The two of them, one significantly shorter than the second, looked at each other if only for a moment, but a moment was all they needed.

She, stepping over her defeated opponents, opened the door of her sweets shop with a tail and walked in. She had left it open, obviously a gesture to come in, as warm light began to flood from within the store.

Mihawk, although still feeling the sting of defeat, had become curious of Anastasia Raegun.

He entered the store.

* * *

Dracule Mihawk, now fourteen years old and 5'6", stopped in front of the familiar sweets shop, Green Day. He had routinely visited the redhead for three years now, ever since he first entered the store that night. Every day, after training, he would walk down that familiar road, battered and bruised but triumphant, go into the bakery and greet the woman with his presence. Despite her rough demeanor and sometimes obnoxious laughter, she was strong person, something Mihawk was constantly striving for. He surrounded himself with only the strongest, since _he_ would become the strongest once he set out into sea.

He told Anastasia this after finishing the plate of pasta and the ever-present tea candy.

She only smirked and teased him, asking how he could even go around with that kind of mindset when he couldn't even beat _her_ yet?

"I'll come back here once I become the strongest" Mihawk had promised her on that day, when he would finally set out to sea and surprisingly, her eyes became soft, almost happy.

"You better keep your word, ya' hear?" She said, grinning that rare, heartfelt smile she reserved only for him.

She gave him a bagful of candies and a hug for his long journey ahead.

* * *

Mihawk did come back, true to his word, but this time, he went to a different place. Carrying a bottle of sake, some sweets in his pockets and a sword forged from night on his back, he greeted the woman with hair like fire and eyes like the sea he grew strong on.

Standing over her for a few quiet moments, he crouched down slowly, placing the sweets and alcohol in front of the stone and brushed over familiar characters that summed up _her_ name with a gentle intimacy that didn't fit with his stern and powerful image.

Even after all this time, Mihawk still couldn't forget that bittersweet taste in his mouth when Anastasia Raegun first offered him that tea candy.

'I kept my word, Anastasia-san'

* * *

 **A/N:**

Guess who got their first review!

ME!

I'm so fucking happy that I've received such a rewarding comment about my story! It feels good, writing something like this. I feel inspired, ya' know?

For the last bit with Mihawk and Anastasia dying, did you expect it? I wanted to put some angst in here, so I thought at the last minute, "Hey! Why don't you kill off Anastasia and portray a silently mourning Mihawk?" I'm actually kinda bad at writing things like this though XD

Want me to write a story with your favorite OP character in it as a kid?

Questions? Concerns?

Ideas?

Then review!

Thank you for reading and as always, this is LadyPancake, signing out!


	4. Marco

A/N: This is LadyPancake, author of Blue Eyes. I'm sorry for such a long hiatus. I wasn't feeling motivated enough and school started this week. (Ew)

I can't promise anything but I have a shit ton of ideas running around in my head and I'm excited to get them all down for you all to read ASAP.

I don't own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda-sensei-sama-senpai does, so kudos to him.

* * *

In the Grand Line, there was a ship. Not a pirate ship, mind you, since there was no glaringly obvious skull-and-crossbones flag anywhere, but just a plain, regular ship with it's squeaky doors and worn tables. This ship had been through many trials, battered and scuffed but still floating, loved and respected for doing the duty of making sure her guests arrived on the island in one piece.

Those guests were mercenaries. They sold their services to the highest bidder and did the deed. Whether it was to destroy or steal or lie their way into enemy territory, they were the type of people you go to when the Marines wouldn't do shit, which was often. In a way, they were kinda like whoring themselves out with their lives, but as long as they came back alive with a paycheck and a grin, they wouldn't think twice about doing it again.

The leader of these ragtag group of men and women, all driven by the similar goal of striking it rich on the sea, was named Galie.

Galie was the one who got the jobs, and the group were the ones who carried it out. The higher the price, the more the people. Galie had seemingly an unlimited amount of connections with both the outer and underworld, conducting business as easily as a mafia member.

She was dangerous.

* * *

Galie wasn't her real name. Neither was Jeb, Freiga, Red, Quora or Daisy's; but none of them minded. None of them cared. As long as they were called by that name, they could do whatever they wanted. This world was theirs for the taking.

Currently, she wore a white dress-shirt and shorts, showing off sturdy, tan legs that were faint with scars from previous battles. The only thing that really stood out was a belt hanging loosely around her hip, decorated with golden squares evenly spaced on the strip of leather and bright, amazingly, breathtakingly bright blue eyes.

In the gut of the ship sat a boy with lanky limbs and an open red-striped shirt. His tongue sticking out from the side of his lip, he painstakingly drew a line on his many maps, leaning against a low wooden crate. The most peculiar thing about this boy was not only about his presence on this vessel of the sea, as he was younger than most of the mercenaries, but also the tuft of blonde hair sitting on an egg-shaped head. It was curly, extremely so, like a loofah or a cloud.

He had been teased about it enough, so don't you start too.

This boy had no real name to call himself by, as he had long forgotten it. It was on one warm afternoon, while he does the dishes, he glances to the side and sees a cookbook opened to a seemingly random page. He pauses just long enough to skim over when he catches a particular word in bold.

Marco.

At that moment, he decided that was what he wanted to be called by.

* * *

Padding across the worn deck, he pauses for a moment as a figure dressed in a form-fitting dress-shirt and shorts let out a yawn that seemed to be a mix between a belch and a sneeze. He raised his already high-eyebrows at this noise and this caught the attention of one Miss. Galie. She laughed, walked the short distance between him and her and rubbed his fluffy cloud-hair.

"Finally out of that stuffy room, Marco?"

She uses his chosen name for the first time, and Marco grins.

* * *

Galie shovels another sandwich in her mouth, ignorant of the guttural snorting and heaves of breath in between swallows that she made. Though she made an intimidating figure when she wanted to, it was times like these that Marco realized she was only human.

He sits next to her and almost immediately had to slam his hands on her back, trying to dislodge a piece of ham caught in her throat.

* * *

In the afternoon, while his maps as drying, Marco wanders around the ship. He ends up in the kitchen, where a jovial singing is heard. Jeb, the chef, often did this to fill the silence. What was strange was Galie, sitting at the dining table facing the kitchen appliances and singing along with him.

The tune of 'Bink's Sake', 'Black Handkerchief' and 'There is no Shape to a Dream' float throughout the empty ship, most of it's inhabitants gone to land to fight another battle.

Marco waits for a moment before he leaves the chorus of husky and bright voices behind, snickering behind a hand.

Galie wasn't really good at singing.

* * *

It was a complete massacre.

Blood squishing under her boots, Galie drags a stunned and bleeding Marco away from the battlefield, gripping his wrist so tightly that he was sure she would cut off his blood circulation soon. Under her arm was a small chest, the source of all this chaos going around right now. She stumbles over a body, lacking her natural grace as the rush of adrenaline pumped through her veins at full-speed. Marco glances down at the corpse and almost pukes.

It was _Jeb_. His eyes, once a warm cinnamon, had become glassy with death. His stomach was torn open with a spear still embedded in his guts, slowly going cold. Marco's foot comes in contact with one of the intestines and it bursts open like a balloon, slimy brown waste covering his shoes. Marco attempted to hold in the rising sickness as the image _burns_ into his mind, but he continues to run.

Even as tears blue his vision, even as his lungs scream and his muscles ache, he would run.

After all, he couldn't do anything. He was still just a _child_. He didn't belong here.

 _Not in this hell._

* * *

Despite the carnage, she smiles.

Despite the screams that pierce the air, her eyes are kind.

Despite the smell of iron and crunch of metal armor, her touch is warm.

She looks at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world, and he's _stunned._ Even as four muscly red appendages with jagged ends and glow a deep purple from within it's rough hide lash dangerously behind her, she smiles. A big, wide grin unfit for a person who literally ran through hundreds of corpses to get here.

Then she ruins the moment by promptly shoving the contents within the box down his throat and boots him onto the craft that brought the mercenaries to the island of their downfall. Marco, still spitting and gagging at the disgusting taste left on his mouth, was about to spit angrily when she runs a hand through his sweat-matted locks; ignorant of how their armored foes, clutching wickedly sharp weapons and guns, began to exit the dense strip of trees that led here.

"Marco" She says, her voice hitching upwards slightly, in a playful sing-song. "Marco~ You know I love you, right?"

His throat clenches up suddenly. Even if he wanted to speak, he was physically incapable.

"I love you and Jeb and Quin and everybody, so that's why, you have to live. As the boss, I gotta make sure these guys go down, okay?" She brushes her lips against his sweaty, gore-stained forehead.

"Don't let your heart become bitter, Marco. Giving yourself pain will do you no good"

She pushes the craft into the sea with a foot and the boy calls out to her with unrestrained tears flooding down his face grossly. His voice is strained from the lump and a disgusting feeling curls in his stomach.

"GALIE!"

Her back turns from the loofah-haired boy and he feels as if his entire being was breaking apart. She was definitely going to die, and the thought _terrifies_ him. Her mutilated body, blood mingling with the pristine white sand, beautiful, calculating eyes becoming dull- He didn't want that! Why couldn't he have noticed sooner, before all this happened? He cries and screams and begs for whatever god, whatever higher power that existed, to save _her._ For the love of god, just don't let them touch her. There were enough lives taken today, why did she have to become one of them?

Prayers and curses mingled and finally, as his voice becomes hoarse with overuse, he dips his hands into the seawater frantically, trying to lead the craft back towards the fading island. Exhaustion grips him much more quickly than he thought, energy sapped by the devil of the ocean.

He collapses to the ground, eyes rimmed red and not for the first time, silence answers him.

.

.

.

He was alone again.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THE HIATUS!

I wasn't inspired enough to write anything for the past couple of weeks. I looked at my story and was like, "Well damn. I got a lot of catching up to do", so I sat down and typed away. I wanted to get this story out to you guys ASAP to make up for the lost time. I'm not sure whether or not I should keep up with the whole idea of the angst endings. Give me your opinion via review~

Want me to write a story with your favorite OP character in it as a kid?

Questions? Concerns?

Ideas?

Then review!

Thank you for reading and as always, this is LadyPancake, signing out!


	5. Jewelry Bonney

This is LadyPancake, author of Blue Eyes. Here's a new chapter for those who've patiently waited.

I don't own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda-sensei-sama-senpai does, so kudos to him.

* * *

Hunger was a constant companion here; it followed heels like a persistent dog, curling stomachs with aches and pains that slowly became dulled with the cold winter wind, as harsh and unforgiving as the other starving orphans of Ilumna City. You couldn't blame them. Hunger will do that to people. Make them do things that no normal sane person would do. Kill, rape, mutilate, tear, destroy; the list goes on and on. Nobody was a stranger to these things.

Hair matted with grime and frosted at the tips, a girl flitted from shadow to shadow as she scoped out her next target. Arms much too thin for a seven year old, with a gaunt face and breaths coming out shakily, she hugs the tattered cloak closer to her form, as if to reign in what little warmth and confidence she had left.

It was nearing midday, where the crowds of fur-clad visitors and inhabitants alike would plod through slimy, grey snow to haggle for wares. The buzz of chatter, the clattering of boxes, the scraping of knives- it played a familiar tune of life.

She hated it. She hated how she, a child, was forced to resort to robbery in hopes for filling her stomach for once. She hated how desperate she'd become and how it wormed it's way into her being. There was no end for her.

Hungry. She was always hungry. This feeling was nothing new to her.

There was no time for complaining.

"There" She whispered low under her breath, as pink eyes hone in on a figure sitting in a wheelchair, back facing her.

It was perfect. If she got caught, he wouldn't be able to chase her anyways!

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, she pushes from the brick wall and saunters towards the stand, taking a moment to integrate herself into the mass of people before she reaches forwards, pale, trembling fingers brushing against the pockets of the coat hanging behind the wheelchair. Just before she reaches her target, a hand much larger than her own engulfs her wrist. Before the surge of fear, she marvels at how warm it was, how the chill was chased away by a single moment. A rough voice rumbles irritably, "The fuck are you doing?"

He was over six feet tall and dressed in black, a stark contrast to the sea of pale-colored coats and skin. How could she have missed him?! Was he behind a crate or something?

"Let go of me, ya' bastard!" She spits out harshly, trying to blink away the static that was eating away the edges of her vision. What remaining energy she had was put into slurring insults she heard from the whores and the drug dealers lingering about the dank corners and alleys of the city. Her captor simply raises a thick eyebrow and smirks.

"Brat, go around with that kinda attitude and you'll end up dead, ya' know"

Nobody paid them any mind, even with her shrieking and frantic clawing at the muscled arm littered with scars. Robberies were all too common here. It was better to mind your own business than to stick your nose where it didn't belong. It just had become this kind of world. Now, nobody would look twice at a misdeed. Too focused on themselves, they huddle away from whatever may hurt them and desperately cling onto material goods. Surrounding themselves with women, booze, money; it was suffocating. Whenever she stole from someone, she felt like rather than doing something that was normally frowned upon, she had taken a bit of sin away from the people. Of course, saying this out loud had garnered laughs from the other orphans, a rare change in the stifling atmosphere. For a moment, as they tease her in good-nature, she looks at their grimy faces and see children who just wanted a _chance._

The world had forced them to grow up knowing that they are the rejected race of society and would never be able to do anything better for themselves.

That's why, if her meager existence was wiped out right now, nobody would care. If she was dying on the side of the road with blood spurting from her wounds, they would simply walk around to avoid getting their boots stained.

She was born only to die before ever getting to do what she wanted. What kind of life was that?

That was also the reason why she fought. One day, she would claw her way to the top and sit upon a throne of iron.

* * *

When her failed target turns the wheelchair clockwise to face them, he takes one look at her shivering form hanging limply from the tall man's grip like a water-logged kitten and sighs. She immediately took offense, partially because she was pissed that she was caught and partially because she was cold as balls and her arm was about to fall off if the bear didn't drop her anytime soon.

"What're ya' lookin' at, blue eyes?" Had she any dignity, she would have winced at the poor choice of insult, but continued anyways, "Tell yer dog-" She gestures to the tall man with a foot "-to back the _fuck_ off!"

"It's Chavier, kid. And that _dog_ over there is Keungi" The now-identified _Chavier_ looked at her with those startling blue eyes like shards of ice. They were pale in color, like faded cloth, but there was a reserved excitement gleaming through those orbs.

She's stunned. What the _hell_ was this guy on? She just tried to rob him blind and now they were making introductions? Was this a trap?

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. _Who does this guy think he is, pretending to be all mature when he's probably never had to work hard for a day in his life?_

Her thoughts cut short as her body begins jostling uncomfortably. "Oi! Where the hell are ya' takin' me?!" She flails uselessly for a few moments before the bear tucks her in the crook of his wonderfully (Not that she was going to admit it) warm arm and heaves a large load of groceries over his back with little effort.

"Well, you've caught my interest. So until you bore me, I think I'm gonna keep you" Blue eyes says this as if they were casually discussing the weather. As if taking another human being and "keeping them" was a completely normal thing.

Her mouth dropped open for a moment as her mind began to race. He was a guy and she was a girl. There was some sort of connection that had to be made there. She graciously accepts the rising feeling of disgust and decides to ask something serious to Blue eyes.

"Are you gonna make me into a _sex_ slave?" Her voice is breathless with horror and as soon as those words left her mouth, Bear explodes into sudden laughter, taking her by surprise. It was rather loud and made his chest reverberate in deep, baritone trembles. Blue eyes chokes on something, flapping his arms in a comical manner as if he was trying to make the very thought go away.

"Nonononono, Oh my god, I don't look like that kinda person, do I? I swear I don't have any weird fetish like that! I wouldn't do that sort of thing to _anyone!_ Especially a kid!" Blue eyes stutters over a few words in his haste, ears turning a bright red while Bear managed to squeeze out through peals of laughter, "What gave you that kind of idea, brat?"

She scoffs irritably, attempting to land another hit on the ridiculously large man that obviously failed to connect due to the lack of solid material behind bandaged feet.

Bear ignores her struggles and begins to pad next to Blue eyes, the slush of melted and gray snow providing a beat to their steps.

* * *

She's dropped onto a worn chair, her eyes just reaching over the rim of the smooth table as she watches Blue eyes skirts around, holding a saucepan with a piece of meat sizzling on the black metal. Maneuvering his wheelchair around Keungi, who was crouched in front of a microwave, Blue eyes deposits the meat onto a large oval plate in front of her, a grin on his face.

"Try some"

"I don't wan' yer charity, Blue eyes" She mumbles, turning her head to the side besides the mouth-watering smell that assaulted her nose. She swallows back the drool inconspicuously (she hopes) and clenches the worn material of her clothes.

"It's not charity. It's common human decency" Blue eyes tone made it almost impossible to complain, echoing a confidence that was borderline arrogant. She coughs loudly as to hide the pitiful gurgling of her stomach before she goes properly on her knees to gain leverage, ignoring the uncomfortable press of bone against wood. Reaching for the fork and knife, both of which were stabbed in the meat, she yanks them out.

"Jewelry Bonney" She states quietly before quite literally sawing off chunks too big for her and stuffing them in her mouth. She chews, watching _Chavier_ as if she were challenging him to say anything otherwise. She barely notices how the meat was slightly charred on the edges. Hunger is the best spice after all.

He just smiles and hands her some napkins.

"After this, take a bath"

* * *

She has long-since situated herself in the quaint home inhabited by a bright-eyed cripple and a bear-like man with his scruff and wild look. Said bear was now lumbering out of a room hours after he and Chavier first entered, a victorious shine on his face that was almost painful to look at. Scrubbing viciously at his cropped black hair, he swings the towel around his neck and padded towards the refrigerator, clinking around in search for his after-sex drink.

Bonney takes one look at him and the smugness that was practically _oozing_ out of his pores before she resumes eating the scones Chavier bought for her earlier that day.

She had been around long enough to know what was going on in there, even if she was still a kid. The street-orphans and the whores spared no detail from her, tittering in childish giggles at her scandalized expression at the end of their rather... _descriptive_ monologue. Some even had the nerve to offer a demonstration, which was irritably declined.

'But that's not my problem'

She takes a sip of cinnamon-tea to wash down the sweet pastry.

* * *

Keungi storms out of the house early in the afternoon, eyes blazing with fury and slams the door so hard a crack appears in the wood. The retreating thumps and curses fade into silence, before Bonney wraps a hand around the handle to wrench the door open again, planning to take after the dunderhead bear.

"Don't"

Bonney halts, turning her head towards the other occupant in the room.

There was a sick feeling in her stomach as she takes in his deteriorating condition not for the first time today. He looked thirty year older than he actually was, dark shadows around his tired eyes and a paleness that seemed to sink into his skin.

He smiles, an expression she had come to hate. It wasn't anything like the ones he gives her while making food or shopping or doing laundry; this was one that hid him away like a cheap mask. False words to comfort, fake smiles to soothe; it was all a lie.

"It's alright now"

There was no reassurance behind those words, and Bonney knows that even he is powerless against death.

* * *

"I used to be a pirate" He says a few minutes later, after taking out the tea bags and plopping one in Bonney's mug and three in his own.

He always liked drinking his tea strong, but this was ridiculous. After taking a sip from the darkening water, he looks up at her, who was sitting in the chair and leaning against the table that she could barely see over when they first brought her in.

"Wouldn't you like to hear my story, Bonney?"

She nods and he begins; like clockwork, he weaves a tale of a young boisterous child with bright eyes and brighter dreams. He tells her of battles and of friendship; of the ocean that greeted them kindly and those blissful, lazy days where everybody on the crew would just lay out in the shade provided by the gently swaying trees and twining vines supporting the mast and just sleep.

In the cover of the night, he and his crew were stalked by a beast who stole the life of whomever it touched. While they slept, the monster would come and do nothing but stare at the mass of bodies all hanging from their hammocks, hunger gleaming in it's eye as it chose out who it would take first.

It wasn't until the third day that it attacks, and Chavier intercepts with equal ferocity. At a brief second of weakness, when the monster attempts to strike the nearest crew mate, it's poison touch brushes against Chavier's legs, wracking through the veins and destroying the fragile network of nerves far too quickly, blackening the skin like a charred log. The beast perishes once the loyal first-mate crushes it's skull with a nearby pipe.

They were too late, and the legs had become useless lumps of flesh.

The first-mate blames himself, for not protecting the captain as any first-mate would. Chavier could no longer be a pirate, but not his crew. Not for the rest of the Ente Pirates.

It's not long before he leaves them, his dream and purpose all but non-existent. He wanders from island to island, finally settling in an area in the South Blue.

The cold, broken, faithless city had reminded him of himself.

* * *

It is almost midnight when the door creaks open, the quiet thumps of falling feet going towards Chavier's room. Bonney, sleeping in the room just down the hall, wakes up with a start, as she was a light sleeper. She hears a rustle of sheets, a murmured apology and more rustling.

The door closes.

Bonney goes back to sleep.

Everything was fine.

* * *

"I'll get all the orphans and take them away from here. Those that were cast away, those who were torn down and beaten; I want to become the person that'll give their life meaning. I want to return to them the dreams that were stolen simply because of who they were and where they stood" Bonney, now twenty, looked at Keungi with conviction.

"You know that feeling, don't you? Since you were that first-mate"

Keungi smirks, though his back is still hunched over the white stool, looking at the third occupant in the room emptily. "It ain't that hard to connect the dots, brat" He says, voice exhausted and hollow. He doesn't even try to mask his grief as Chavier often would. He was far more emotionally weaker than Chavier, though he didn't look like it at all.

"Go and do whatever you want. You have no obligation here anymore" Keungi slips his hands underneath a figure swaddled in white hospital blankets, resting him against his chest as if the pulse would spark the man's dead heart back to life. Bonney clenches her fists, watching as the broken pirate holds the corpse close to him, like his heat could warm the chill that settled into the other's body.

There were a million things she wanted to say, but watching Keungi clutch onto Chavier like a lost child, eyes lowered and jaw set; it felt like she was being repeatedly stabbed in the gut.

Sometimes, the world just wasn't fair. It took things it didn't deserve and from those who least deserved it.

Nothing she could have said now that would ease the burden on Keungi.

She falls to her knees and bows low enough for her forehead to touch the rough oak floor. Tears darkening the wood in small dark circles, she thanks the both of them. She remembers Chavier's soft touch and heartfelt smile; the laughs that shook his entire form and the slightly-burnt roast he offered her that day.

She loved the both of them as a child would love a parent, and she would enter the seas with their ideals in her heart and their laughter on her lips.

* * *

 **A/N:**

So, you know how I promised not to write angst? Well, I lied. I'm trying to follow the idea that one becomes strong or strives to become strong after experiencing loss. In canon, it's kind of like this too. Sabo, Kuina, Zeff (his leg, I mean), Bell-mere, Bachina, Hiluluk- the list goes on and on. Because of this loss, they adopt a mindset that if they become strong (physically or intellectually), they wouldn't have to lose anyone anymore.

This time, they would know how to fight back.

Thank you for reading and I apologize sorely for the hiatus. I'm rather inconsistent with updates and school's been positively _flooding_ me with tests and whatnot, so I'm trying to keep my grades up and do all this shit at once.

Want me to write a story with your favorite OP character in it as a kid?

Questions? Concerns?

Ideas?

Then review!

Thank you for reading and as always, this is LadyPancake, signing out!


	6. Kuzan

A/N: This is LadyPancake, author of Blue Eyes.

I don't own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda-sensei-sama-senpai does, so kudos to hIm XD

* * *

On the battlefield, he fought with a viciousness that smoldered within him like a dangerous flame, making his indigo eyes dance, taunting to his enemies that he was still _alive_ and they would never _ever_ be able to put him out. The way he fought was unlike anything standard marine training had to offer, working more with his entire body than just one specific part. It was a dance inviting carnage, with nimble steps, wide arcs and concentrated attacks that really did do the damage it was worth. More than a few had fallen to a quick succession of strikes that were performed fluidly, the snap of bone and agonized screams all falling deaf to the relentless hunter.

Those surviving the first attack were picked off by jagged, muscly appendages that almost shone with crimson gore. Trailing his path quite literally with torn open corpses and blood, he plowed through the heavily armed group with the force of a warship. These tails that trailed behind him, numbering five in total, struck out with a deadly swiftness, the deep-rooted instinct of a _beast._

Kuzan, however, wasn't there to gawk at Felix. He had a job to do, and no matter how unjustifiable the reason was, he had to go through with it. 'After all, that's what a marine is all about. Being a dog for the government' The almost ten foot man thinks bitterly, his ice-coated hands effortlessly plucking an opponent and, ignoring his frantic howls, freezes him.

Tossing the body to the side, he stalks towards the intimidated group, the ones who weren't picked out by Felix yet.

By the time the two hit their twenty-third birthday, the 'Two-Man Battalion' had become Commodores.

Kuzan wasn't sure how he felt about that. He knew both of them were chosen because, as Felix said-

 _"Your ranking depends on how well you follow orders and how many people you killed_ "

For some reason, the ice devil-fruit user agreed with him

* * *

I'm done with this. Onto the next fic!

Thanks for reviews darlings, and many apologies for the agonizingly slow updates. School's a bitch XD


End file.
